Forgive me no more
by Nauralass
Summary: When two different worlds link unexpectedly, one has to decide what to make out of it.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

London

"This is so exciting!" The other three girls nodded in unison, and again they started talking – all at the same time, every one of them broaching a different topic, trying to pull Celine's attention to what they wanted to make the topic of their conversation. Celine felt great. Again, she found herself the centre of their combined interest.

Just a few weeks ago, she had used their almost daily meetings to announce her upcoming marriage – back then, she had just known what her father had told her, that it would be a man of a high social status, a good family, and a personal friend of his. Her father had spent more than two hours telling her of her fiancé, trying to persuade her where there was no need to – she had always trusted her father to make the right decisions. And although she didn't even know the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with, she was confident. In addition, her father had promised she would get the opportunity to get to know him beforehand, and should she find she could not agree to a marriage, she would be free to break off the engagement.

This very morning, her father had told her that she would leave in two weeks for Port Royal. It would be her first journey leading her out of Britain, and thus she could hardly wait to pass the news to her friends. Which, in fact, were now even more excited than she was herself. Thanks to mother, she mused. The most important lesson you have to learn, the voice of her late mother sounded through her thoughts, is to never loose countenance. Behave like the lady you are, supposed to be and you will be treated as one.

"But isn't it dangerous?" Diane inquired, comfortably leaning back. "I mean, it's a long journey across the ocean. There might be storms, or worse-", she straightened her back again, pursing her lips, half breathing, half whispering the following word," pirates." Caroline clapped her hands together with joy, interrupting the other's giggles. "This is so romantic!" she exclaimed, tipping the narrow silver ring she wore against her glass to make sure she had all the attention.

"Your ship will be destroyed by a storm.", she started. The other three girls fell silent. There was a humorous twitch around the corners of Celine's lips. Sometimes, she thought, these ladies were just unbelievable, and hopelessly unrealistic. How she would miss them, their afternoons spent talking and dreaming, making plans for the future yet to come, or just gossiping. "You will be floating in the water, pushed up and down by the waves, holding on to a single plank, when –"

"- when, all of a sudden, a great ship appears, carried forth by billowing white sails, almost as if hovering over the surface of the water." Sarah continued the tale. "The sailors will send a boat to take you safely aboard the ship, where-"

"- you will be greeted by the captain. However, what you did not know until then, you are now aboard a pirate ship. As awareness hits you,-" Diane passed the imaginary relay on to Caroline, skipping Celine intentionally.

"- this polite, handsome pirate captain will prove himself to be honourable, reassuring you, promising to take you to your destination unhurt. Just when you are about to reach Port Royal, you will realize –" She turned her face to Sarah, who went on.

"- you have fallen helplessly in love with him, just as he has lost his heart to you. But dutiful as you are, you will leave the ship, finally facing your fiancé, determined to forget about the captain, but –"

"- a few days later, after you went to bed, you find a small note on your pillow. It's a note from the captain, saying that he feels unable to keep his distance. It also says that he asks for a decision, and if you should chose him, he would wait for you tomorrow night at the beach. The next evening -. And now, dear, it's your turn. Tell us how the story ends." Diane finished their shared role of narrator. All eyes fixed on Celine, amusement as well as excitement to be found in them. Celine repeatedly touched the tips of both her forefingers to her chin, thinking.

"Well, I guess, the next evening I will secretly pack those things most necessary, as I won't be able to carry much. As soon as it is dark and the personnel is asleep, I will sneak out of the house, down to the beach, to meet him there, to follow him into freedom.", she spread her hands, opening her palms, and closed her eyes, sighing theatrically. Again, they fell silent. There was a certain tension between the four of them. It lasted several moments before they burst into happy, clear laughter.

"You wouldn't!", Sarah managed to force enough air into her lungs to speak.

"Of course I wouldn't!", Celine breathed deeply. "But don't we agree, it has to be allowed to dream. What would become of us if we didn't break out from time to time – mentally.", she protested without seriousness, furrowing her fine brows.

"Now, dear, let's talk in earnest for just one or two seconds. I mean, it can be dangerous, can it not? What did your father say?" Caroline expressed a faint worry. Celine shrugged her shoulders, reaching for her glass.

"He said I had nothing to worry about. So I shall not"

The Caribbean Sea

It had been two years. Three months. 23 days. And Jack kept counting them. He never lost his track of time since that glorious day they had won their everlasting feud against the East India Trading Company. Well, it wasn't just the Company they had sent to the depths of the Caribbean Sea. It was also the rule of the British over these parts of the world's oceans they had broken, or at least driven back. For about half a year after the battle, the pirates had continued to keep together closely, pushing the British marine further out of the Caribbean, breaking up every British brigade group they came across, until His Majesty's marine was reduced to the task of protecting merchant ships. His Majesty soon found he had more important things to do, and thus all that was left of the British marine were a few ships anchoring at Port Royal and those protecting the Company's merchant ships. Merchants not connected with the Company soon started to pay for safe passages, more and more of them even chose Tortuga to sell their goods. It became and still was a good time for all pirates, especially for one certain pirate: Jack Sparrow. The day of the final battle, he had had a very long talk with Hector Barbossa aboard the Black Pearl. Well, it wasn't quite a talk – when they both realized they would never come to an understanding which of them would be the future captain of the ship, they had agreed to let the cards solve the matter. Surrounded by the ship's crew, they had played the whole night long. When finally Jack had won the match, he felt the strong urge to ease Barbossa's loss, so he left the crew to the former Captain of the Undead. Together, they arrived in Tortuga – Barbossa getting a new ship, Jack hiring a new crew, except for his long-time mate (and friend, although he would never speak it out loud) Gibbs, who had asked to stay aboard the Pearl. At first, it had been a little difficult to get the new crew used to his interpretation of being pirates, but it had taken them surprisingly little time to adjust to these periods of sailing here and there, indulging in card games and rum without taking over any ship, while their captain was just watching the sea or locking himself up in his cabin for hours. As Gibbs had once explained, from time to time their Captain needed a few moments to himself, just to come up with the next inconvenient, but ingenious idea. They had even learned to trust that strange compass to lead them exactly to what they desired most – be it rum or something shiny.

Yes, it indeed was quite a good time, Jack pondered, lazily tapping his fingertips against the glass of the bottle of rum on his desk, which was, as always, covered with a thick layer of charts. The sun's warming rays broke through the windows of his cabin at the back of his Pearl, filling the room with soft light. Small waves splashed against the ship. Jack leaned back in his chair, his left hand describing small circles to the rhythm of an imaginary music, his right hand grabbing the bottle, lifting it from the desk.

"To the now and then!" he murmured. A quick glance at his compass assured him that, at this very second, there was nothing else he wanted more than one, two or maybe even three sips from the bottle he was holding, and with a small smile of satisfaction, he brought the bottle to his lips.

Chest after chest, barrel after barrel, the pirates of the Black Pearl carried across loosely tied planks connecting the two ships. Whilst his crew was emptying the hold of the ship, Jack was joggling at the door to the captain's cabin. Much to his displeasure, it just wouldn't open. But if it was locked from the inside, Jack thought, then there got to be someone in there.

"Hey there!", he called through the wood of the massive door, "Open up now or I'll shoot tha lock!"

"Now, Captain,", Gibbs laughing voice sounded behind him, "people always have a character less difficult than a ship. If you can't coax this one out of the cabin, how do you plan ta coax the Pearl out of the next storm, eh?"

"Be gone, Gibbs!" Jack hissed angrily at his loyal mate. But there was no denying the truth Gibbs had told. Determined to get the mysterious someone out of the cabin without using a bullet, he turned to the door again.

About ten minutes, a lot of coaxing talk and the whole amount of Jack's patience later, a single shot echoed over the surface of the ocean. The wood the lock was embedded in slivered, and the door creaked open. Carefully, Jack stuck his nose into the room, surveying the richly appointed cabin. Underneath a heavy desk, a small, skinny boy had pulled his knees up to his chest, shaken to his bones, staring terrified at the pirate. Trembling, the boy pushed himself further under the desk. His big eyes were filled with upcoming tears and fright. Jack couldn't avoid returning the boy's staring rather surprised – he had expected a much more capable opponent, even had prepared to be confronted with the muzzle of a gun. Which would have been much less alarming than being forced to realize this crying mess had bested his staying power. "Bugger.", he finally broke the silence. This was a defeat he never would get rid of – nor would his men ever get tired of spreading its tale, which would be then, of course, not utterly true, in fact, it wouldn't even be almost true. They would be making such a great deal of it, he knew that, adding something here and there, until they had painted a whole different picture of what had really happened, and very soon all Caribbean pirates (and perhaps even all the others, too) would know that he, Captain Jack Sparrow, had lost first a verbal battle and then a terrible swordfight against a four-year-old boy. The Kraken only knows, Jack pondered, if it won't be a little girl by then, or her puppet. The vision of his own scimitar clashing against a much smaller one guided by the porcelain hand of a golden-haired puppet in a rose silk dress triggered his decision. He just wouldn't let them set foot on land as long as they would remember this episode. With enough rum and some nice storms giving their brains a good shake, he would perhaps get out of this without any loss.

Determined, he turned away from the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A few weeks later.

Since that fatal day Captain Sparrow found his master of patience and persuasion in a skinny boy, he had kept his crew busy and far away from every port. When there were no ships to take over, he would find some other way to occupy them, but mostly his compass proved itself a real friend, never letting him down.

Well, at least not until the day the compass had led them into the most draining doldrums they had ever experienced. Although they were immobilised like this for three days already, Jack refused to loose his confidence. Restlessly, he strolled along the rails, holding his compass in his left, the telescope in his right hand, alternating between looking at the reflecting glass covering the quivering needle and peering through the telescope, whilst his crew grew more tired of the Caribbean sun from minute to minute. Pieces of memory of the last mutiny that cost him ship and crew made him change from compass to telescope ever faster, and now and then he caught himself spying on his crew (especially of those parts of his crew sticking closely together and talking too lowly for him to listen) instead of searching the horizon for a solution. Just when it became obvious, when some of the sailors slowly got aware of their captain lurking around and were already shooting him not so friendly stares (surely, whenever one of them moved his attention in a direction that could get dangerous for him, he tried to turn away and pretend to be doing something else, but in the process forgot about those watching him while he was watching others), his eyes were caught by an approaching point hovering over the surface of the ocean. Hurriedly, he pushed the lens of the telescope up to take a closer look. Triumph pooled in his stomach. His compass had been right (as had he by trusting it). A smaller ship smoothly glided over the even water, pulled forward by rows.

"Mr Gibbs?"

"Aye, Captain."

"This be a ship."

Jack Sparrow handed his mate the telescope.

"Aye, Captain, looks like one.", Gibbs answered.

"I figured it might be one of those independent merchant ships, pro'bly tha 'Gorgeous'. What say ye?" Jack pulled his eyebrows together, lifting the hat to shelter his eyes from the sun.

"Aye, probably."

"Still, I'm havin' some trouble with tha fact she's all'lone, without any kind of escort 'n such. Do ye think they might have paid the passage?"

"Aye, Captain. Can't imagine any other reason."

"Well, then it's not their day taday. Forgotta pay me." Abruptly, he turned from the rail, his words almost lost to Gibbs' ears, heading to the stairs leading to the bridge with long, slightly swaggering strides.

"Uhm, aye, Captain, ye be right.", Gibbs mumbled, still loud enough for Jack to hear it.

"Mr Gibbs?", the Captain called over his shoulder, half turning his head, one foot already set on the first step.

"Aye, Captain?"

"Would ye do me the favour of not starting every sentence with 'Aye'?"

"Aye, -" Gibbs shut his mouth. "Of course, Captain."

"Excellent."

"Captain, since we're stuck here in the doldrums, how ...?" The older man didn't finish his sentence, his eyes rising to regard the unmoving fabric of the sails.

Jack touched his forefinger to his chin. For a few moments, he seemed to be deep in thought before he fully turned to Gibbs.

"We'll use the longboat."

"The longboat? Captain, ta take that ship over we'll need more men than fit into the longboat."

"Thanks t'ye, Gibbs, for this quite valuable advice.", Jack retorted with a slight pout. "Now, there be just one thing ye tend ta forget from time ta time."

Gibbs furrowed his brows, thinking.

"Captain, I -"

"'tis alright, Gibbs. After all, me didn't hire ye ta do all the thinking, did I? What ye're forgetting, mate, is:", he leaned forward, opening his palms as if presenting the problem's solution on a silver tray, "I", he paused for a second, emphasizing the forthcoming, "am Capn Jack Sparrow."

A few hours later, when the wind had arisen again, the Black Pearl caught up to the smaller ship. On deck of the 'Gorgeous', the crew stood in a row, their hands tied neatly together in front of them. The ten pirates (who had fit into the longboat) were still searching the ship, while Jack examined the faces of the captured crew members. Eventually, he reached the captain. Jack sniffed his nose, extending the forefinger of his right hand as if to poke the man against the chest. But changing his mind, he leaned back on his heals, then rose a few centimetres on his toes.

"Not selling slaves this time, are ye?", he asked, inclining his head.

The smaller man shot him a glance.

"At least I'm not a thief, Sparrow, and after all I paid to get a safe passage. You should really know better than to ignore that."

"Nah, mate." Jack waved his forefinger in front of the man's face, "that be where ye're wrong. After all, ye paid somebody else to get that safe passage, but not me, now did ye?"

"Still, Captain, you pirates agreed we would have to pay just one of you.", the Captain protested weakly, gesturing with his bound hands.

"I wouldn't be so sure 'bout that, mate. And even if", the pirate pulled back, "ye gotta remember a pirate's a pirate 'coz he's breaking them rules." Jack drawled these last words, nodding at the man to make his point, before continuing to the captive who stood next. Unlike the crew and captain of the "Gorgeous", he wore a wig. His clothes, although they were in a condition of disarray, gave away the fact he had to be a wealthy man, as did his bulky appearance. Sweat had already gathered on his brows, a few drops running down his cheeks and nose.

"And who might ye be?" Jack pondered, leaning forward to study the embroidery pattern adorning the collar of the man's coat. The captive instinctively took a step back.

"I – I'm a merchant", he stuttered. Jack's eyes were caught by the way the man wrung his tied hands.

"Are ye? Mate, ye seem ta me a little nervous." He put his left hand on the man's shoulder, sympathetically looking at him. Somehow, Jack thought, this one tries to hide something from me.

"No need ta faint, mate", Jack started chattily, "I'm no murderer, anyways. Honestly. These things just happen if I happen ta be forced ta make 'em happen. It's all up t'ye. Me, I'll get a little weight off yer ship, and off ye go. Really, I -"

"Captain!"

Jack turned to Gibbs, who had just gotten out of the door leading to the cabins. He was dragging a bundle of green silk and chestnut locks after him, which was constantly throwing not so silky insults at him. When he had almost reached Jack, his petite prisoner managed to twist her wrist out of his grasp, turned and bolted back into the cabin. The door slammed shut and the key was turned with an audible "click".

A few seconds of surprised silence followed, before the crew of the Pearl burst into laughter. Gibbs felt his cheeks burning, and not for the first time he thanked the Gods he chose not to remove his beard. Stunned, he first stared at his empty hand, then at his captain, who didn't look amused at all.

"That was pathetic, Gibbs. If ye can't handle a woman, how'd I trust ye t'handle me ship?" Gaping, the mate stood paralyzed. Somehow he had always known the episode with that bloody boy would get on him someday.

Wordlessly, Gibbs eventually reached for the pistol hanging loosely from his belt. With an expression of utter challenge, he offered the pistol to his Captain.

"Well then, Captain, make it short."

Obviously taken aback, Jack took his time to first stare at the pistol, then at his mate. "There be anything ye wish ta tell me, Gibbs?" The question came from somewhere deep within the Captain's throat, turning Gibbs' cheeks from reddish to white. "No, Captain, really, I just thought ..." Curtly interrupting the man's stammering, Jack raised his nose and strolled past him, meaningfully ignoring the offered weapon. A few steps left between him and the cabin door, he turned again and eyed his crew members.

"Back ta work, ye miserable scoundrels! We don't have all day here!", he scolded.

In a blink of an eye, they had gotten back to searching the ship and consigning whatever they found to be valuable. Straightening his coat, Jack approached the door and gave a soft knock.

"Who is it?" a female voice demanded.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, young Miss. Would ye be so kind as ta open the door?"

"Jack Sparrow?"

"CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow, Miss."

"I've heard of you, Mr Sparrow." the voice stated.

Seemingly stunned, Jack drew his head back until his chin almost touched his collar.

"Uhm ... well, honoured ta hear that, Miss." he eventually answered with a slightly confused expression.

"Now, I guess that be makin' ye open that door now, don't it?" he asked in an almost pleading voice, trying not to imagine what would happen to his reputation if he failed on this one, too.

"I do not think so, Mr. Sparrow. I'm only afraid of pirates." Stretching her last word, Jack, although he really tried to misunderstand her, got the meaning. Fleeting moments passed. He spent them with attempting to figure out if he had any possibility to fill her pert comment with a different, less painful content, until he had to realize there was none.

"See – uhm, ... Miss, I promise I'm a pirate. Ye know, a real pirate, like in 'We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot'." He had always hated having to convince someone.

"Then, Mr Sparrow, I see no reason to unlock this door, as I feel declined to follow the demand of a criminal." Jack rolled his eyes. Clearing his throat, he decided to let the subject drop, change the heading and also not to insist on the title - for the moment.

"That'd be right, Miss. But since I'm also a good man, as some people tend ta tell me over and over again, I guess there be no risk in opening that door."

"Pirates also tend to be liars, Mr Sparrow."

"True. Ye got me, Miss, a smart woman ye are, it seems, but still I wonder why ye aren't considering the fact me doesn't have ta talk ye out of there. 't would be much easier ta just shoot the lock 'n lug ye out, savvy?" Now, all of a sudden, I'm a pirate again, he groaned inwardly. Never would he completely understand the ways of the women. But aye, wait, he reminded himself. This particular pattern of behaviour he had decrypted long ago – they would easily change their point of view, as long as it saved the achievement of their goal. Never'd stick to anything, really.

"So why don't you?"

"'coz I'm a good man - for a -"

A shout from the Pearl interrupted him.

"There be clouds gathering, Cap'n! Looks like there's a storm coming up!"

Jack raised his head to look into the direction the man was pointing. Just above the horizon, dark clouds were piling up, and a few moments later, the first thunder rumbled. A strong gust of wind swept over the ship, pulling angrily at its sails.

"A'right, Miss. If ye'd kindly take a look out o'yer window.", he turned back to the massive door. "We be havin' a nice Caribbean storm all 'round us in 'bout few minutes, have ta get crew 'n captives off the ship quite soon, so if ye don't want ta be left on this ship all 'lone, ye've got ta get out of there soon.", he warned her. There was a rustle of cloth, then a few steps and a soft gasp. With a satisfied smirk, Jack leaned back against the wall next to the door.

"Mr Gibbs, hurry up, would ye? Cut the ropes as soon as everybody's aboard!", he called. Just as he finished the sentence, he heard the cabin door being opened. A rather pale face peered through the small gap. When her eyes found him, she opened the door fully and stepped out of the cabin.

"Do I have your word not to hurt me?" she asked, straightening her slender shoulders. Jack shot Gibbs, who had been watching the scene for some time, a triumphant look.

"Dear, that be a good question t'ask while still in there.", Jack answered casually, his eyes refocusing on the fuzz he was trying to remove from his sleeve. The blood fled her cheeks completely, and the next instant she was reaching for the door. In a split second, Jack had pushed himself off the wall, yanked the pistol out of his sash, aiming it at her.

"I wouldn't do that.", he threatened. "Get away from that door, dear, or I'll proove meself a real bad guy."

The girl froze in mid-step. Frightened green eyes shot from the muzzle of the pistol up to his face. Her fingers loosened their hold of the door.

"Now get over here, Miss, and Gibbs," he called over his shoulder, "hand me a rope!"

Gibbs hastened over the deck, grabbing a piece of rope as he went, and hurried to his captain's side.

"Let me do that, Sir.", he exclaimed, then whispered lowly, for just Jack to hear it: "Without that storm, Captain, you wouldn't have been able ta -" His captain's palm connecting with the back of his head made him break off his sentence. "Just han' me the bloody rope, Gibbs." Jack hissed, forcefully pulling the rope out of Gibbs' hand.

"We're done here, Captain.", Piney announced, a small, skinny pirate who, despite his low weight, always managed to be the last man standing (apart from Jack himself) when all the others were already drunk beyond the point of forgetting their own name.

The girl closed half the gap between her and the pirate, then she stopped. Her widened eyes were still fixed on his face, and now that she was closer, he could see her hands trembling.

"C'm on, dear, there still be worlds between us. Gimme yer hands, 't won't hurt." he assured her. Reluctantly, she took another two short steps towards him and came to a halt, an arm's length away from him. She crossed her wrists and extended her hands to him.

"Well then, pirate, bind me now. But be warned, I will be rescued, and you, rascal, will be punished terribly.", she promised, putting all the dignity she could muster into her voice. Jack tried in vain to suppress what would have been a genuine laughter, and gave a soft snort. Smoothly, he then pushed the pistol back into his sash and began to twine the rope around her wrists.

"Will I? My, ye gotta be quite important a person threatening a pirate like that.", he grinned broadly, fastening the knot.

"Indeed, Mr Sparrow, I am."

"Well, looks like ye wouldn't mind telling me yer name then, would ye?" His eyes were sparkling with amusement.

"Celine Beckett." A deep silence spread over the ship, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Only the man wearing the wig gave a small groan of resignation, and it occurred to Jack that he just might have discovered the man's secret.

"Beckett? And in which way, dear, are ye possibly related ta late Lord Beckett?" Jack inquired. Now if that's not bloody lucky, he thought, then I don't know what could be.

"I happen to be his niece, Mr Sparrow." The haughty tone of her response brought the sparkle back into his eyes.

"My, my, Miss Beckett", he smiled, the gold teeth flashing, "what a coincidence. I never thought I'd hear that name again."

"So sorry to disappoint you." Regaining her courage, she sweetly returned his smile. "Now, Mr Sparrow, would you do yourself a favour and release me and the crew?"

Jack turned to the few pirates which had not left the ship already.

"Stop gaping, ye rogues. Get off the ship, loosen the ropes and – uhm, just get off, savvy!", he finished, both of his hands scaring away invisible, but cumbrous birds.

Celine Beckett's shoulders relaxed as he returned his attention to her. A wave of relief washed over her, and she breathed deeply, watching the pirates hurrying across the ship, hasting to get back aboard the Pearl.

"Now, that was not so difficult, Mr Sparrow, was it? And at last, you've proven yourself a smart pi-"

A sudden tug at her bound hands made her yelp and stumble against Jack's chest, who instantly seized her shoulders. Dark, kohl rimmed eyes bore into her suddenly again scared ones.

"Luv," the pirate hushed her, "I've no intention of letting ye go. Instead," he continued, bringing his lips close to her ear, "ye just made sure I'll get thrice the ransom, provided that -" Brushing his nose against hers, he changed to her other ear. "- they are willing ta pay such a high price for the snotty brat ye are." The captain's warm breath against her ear made her shiver, an uneasy flush creeping into her cheeks. Embarrassed, she moved her face away from his. Slowly, Jack raised his head again, his eyes meeting hers. Those green eyes staring up at him now held a look of both defiance and fear. The corners of her lips twitched, but whatever it was she was about to say, she somehow managed to hold her tongue. Contented, Jack released her shoulders and backed away a little, just to manoeuvre her up the stairs leading to the bridge, never losing his hold on her. No pirate was left on the smaller ship and aboard the Pearl the crew was already about to set the sails, the sound of Gibbs' orders being carried over the raging sea. By now, every one of them knew their captain would get onto the Pearl without the planks connecting the two ships.

Up on the bridge of the 'Gorgeous', the strong wind seemed to have gathered even more force, pulling on their hair and clothes. The pirate dragging her over the planks removed one hand from her to save his hat from being torn away by the gusts. When they arrived at the side of the bridge opposite to the Pearl, Jack stopped, drawing her almost gently closer to him.

"Dear, ye need ta put yer arms 'round me neck now.", he instructed her. Again, her eyes met his.

"What for?", she dared, resisting the tug at her arm. An exasperated sigh escaped the pirate's lips. Before she got the chance to protest, he'd pushed her tied hands over his head, one arm securely put around her waist, pulling her firmly against him, of course without letting go of his hat. Reaching for a line fastened at the yard, he stepped onto the low railing, causing his precious burden to loose the ground beneath her feet. The moment she was hauled off the ground and got sight of the high, dark waves shattering against the ship beneath her, she felt like her blood would stop running through her veins. Desperately, she tried to force herself to breathe again, and, closing her eyes tightly, she pressed her face into the fabric of the captain's coat. Jack looped the line around his arm once, leant back and took a running start. When his feet lost their contact with the railing, he had gained enough momentum to make the yard give in and follow the direction of the pull. The spreader described a semi-circle, carrying them in a wide arch over the gap between the two ships. Once they were hovering over the bridge of the Pearl, Jack let go of the line, dropping onto the wooden planks of his ship. For a split second he seemed to have lost his balance, but when the girl's feet also touched the ground, they stood safely. "Drama Queen.", Jonah whispered to Piney. "Well aye, but t' works.", the other pirate whispered back, casting an amused glance at the bridge.

"Now, luv, that wasn't so bad, was it?" their captain chuckled up on said bridge, still holding her trembling form close to him. Gathering all the mental strength she had left, she willed her tense features to relax and glared up at him.

"Unhand me this instant, you brute!" she hissed, trying to pull her hands over his head, which proved to be quite a difficult thing to do, given the fact she was considerably smaller than him.

"Well then,", Jack shrugged his shoulders, ducking out from under her hands and putting his hat back to where it belonged, "as ye wish, luv. 'though I must a'mit, that's a new one." Almost immediately, her expression changed from anger to confusion.

"Pardon?" she queried, but before he got the chance to answer, she noticed the crew of the 'Gorgeous' still standing on the now deserted deck of the ship. Sudden understanding washed over her face.

"Mr Sparrow, I guess you do not intend bringing these people aboard your ship, do you?"

"Ah." Jack directed his attention to the subject of her question. Closing and opening his hands a few times, teetering in time on his tiptoes, he seemed to actually think about it. Then he reached for his hat, placed it against his chest and bowed to the captive crew in a gesture of mocking regret. "Nay.", he finally said, returning his focus to her. "I lied. Ta get ye out o'that cabin, ye know, dear, since ye women can't stand da thought o'bein' alone.", he explained matter-of-factly. Indignantly, she shook her head in disbelief. "And now, Mr Sparrow, you're telling me you are planning to abandon them in the upcoming storm, leaving them to die?" she charged him, her anger flaring again, one hand pointing accusingly at the group of tied sailors.

His mouth opened with a silent, surprised gasp, the pirate took his time to adjust to her unexpected outbreak. "No, luv, I won't." Jack finally replied, "coz the sea, dear, will reclaim every life I ever take, that is, if I take it on purpose without necessity, ye know, somethin' like I gotta defend me ship, crew o' me own life, o'course.", he undeceived her gravely. "So, we left 'em a knife. They'd be able ta free themselves in time ta getta ship ready for the storm, an'if they don't - " The unfinished sentence filled the heavy silence between them. "-then you would not be the one responsible for their death, would you." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Perfectly right, luv.", he beamed at her, for the second time putting the shabby leather hat back onto his head. "Jerry!", he turned away from her with a jerk, calling for one of the older pirates right across the deck, "Take the lady down into the brig, and Gibbs, bring me somethin' small ta throw an' a piece of paper!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A few hours later, when they had come through the storm without any serious damages to ship and crew, Jerry took the girl to his captain's cabin. Once inside, he let go of her and retreated, closing the door behind him. Jack sat in his chair, his feet (which were still stuck in the heavy boots) resting on the charts scattered on his desk. His hat lay draped on an empty bottle of rum, the full one dangling loosely in his right hand, which was pointing at a less comfortable chair opposite to him. "Take yer seat, luv, we gotta talk."

Pale and lightly swaying, she attempted vainly to smooth her hair with both palms before she rather tumbled than sat into the assigned chair. Apparently, she had not yet completely recovered from the storm, had not yet regained her balance. Tired as she was, she did not even try to maintain her former defiance, but simply nodded.

"Firstly, I'm overly curious about the purpose of yer journey across the endless ocean." Jack clasped his hands around the bottle and leaned back further. There was a relaxed smile on his lips as he regarded her, waiting for her to start speaking.

"I do not think this is any of your concern, Captain Sparrow."

"Great. Wouldn't have changed anything, after all." He waved his free hand in front if his face as if pushing the subject into a far corner of the room. "Now, I left them freshwater sailors a lil note ta deliver ta Port Royal, which me figured ta be yer destination, ta instruct this plight of a commandant whata do next. Uhm, -" he interrupted himself to take a closer look at her pale features.

"Am I bein' uncivil notta provide ye witta drink, aye? Well, a drink?" He half-heartedly offered her the bottle, stretching out his arm halfway across the desk. Her eyes fixed on the golden liquid swashing inside the bottle.

"It's rum, isn't it?" she prompted, shaking her head at his answering nod. "Thank you, but no. Some water would be sufficient."

"Oh damn ye and yer bloody special needs.", he mumbled into his beard, his head dropping in resignation and, at the same time, hiding his small smile of relief. "Gibbs!" he yelled the next instant, making her wince in shocked surprise. Tapping his fingertips against the wood of the armrest, his gaze locked with hers, his dark brown eyes telling her nothing less than 'Look what I'm doing for you'. Some moments elapsed before the door opened with a creak, and Gibbs stuck his head into the room.

"Cap'n?", he queried.

"Mate, would ye kindly get a cup of drinking water for our lady?"

Just a minute later, she held a not-so-clean cup of freshwater in her hands and sipped slowly.

"Right, where was I?" Holding the neck of the bottle, he let it circle in the air, trying to recall where exactly he had stopped. Intently following the movement of the liquid, he seemed to be utterly captivated by the way the light made it sparkle in the various nuances of gold and copper.

"Ah, aye. Got it. That stockfish of a commandant's gotta deliver a certain amount ta that island I named, where we'll exchange them goods. Since the 'Gorgeous''s considerably slower than me Pearl, we'll be there first, an' if he brings more ships 'n such, means if he doesn't stick ta me instructions, we're off again, an' ye gotta spend some more time with me. How's that?" As soon as he had finished the sentence, Jack once again leaned back into the chair, a self-satisfied smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. He guided the bottle to his lips and took a deep gulp.

"As long as this farce is over soon, Captain, it sounds fine to me.", she answered, keeping her eyes focused on the cup of water.

"Don't ye be so rude, luv," Jack chided, "see, ye a'ready got used to the 'Cap'n', don't be surprised if ye, at the end, feel deeply sorry for havin' ta leave me."

The brig was cold. Cold and dark. There was just a small oil lamp, its light illuminating the small cell insufficiently. Though the mate, Gibbs, had brought her some blankets, she just couldn't warm up or even think of sleep. Desperately, she tried to call memories of her home back into her awareness. Evenings she had spent in front of the chimney, reading or drawing, the warmth of the bright red flames engulfing her, just weeks ago. Relaxed, joyful hours spent with her girls. She had closed her eyes tightly, had pulled the covers around her shoulders, and still the feeling wouldn't return. Yes, memories and pictures, but the feeling, the reassuring feeling that meant safety, was gone, swallowed by the unrelenting sea that was life.

Maintaining her composure had cost her all her strength and pride, and now that they were spent, she had nothing left to protect her from the dawning realization that she had to face this jeopardy all by herself. Despair was beginning to touch her heart with icy hands. No one had ever prepared her for being alone. Her life had been meant to be a calm one, with parents and husband taking care of her, solving the troubles before they could reach her. Now there she was, surrounded by iron bars and damp wood, the movements of the ship, pushed up and pulled down by the waves, turning her stomach. Bit by bit, she felt the warmth leave her cheeks. Had she had a mirror, she would have gazed into a pale face, dark rings beginning to form under her eyes. Countenance, she vainly tried to pull herself together, but there was nothing she could hold on to. For the first time in her life, she was (and felt) alone. Never had she dared to expect this new chapter of her life to take this course. Hadn't he promised? Hadn't her father promised that he had seen to everything to ensure a safe journey? He had. And yet, she was here. She had never experienced fear or sorrow, and suddenly there was nothing else - but fear and sorrow of what was about to come. Footsteps on the wooden stair leading to the brig tore her out of her grievous musings. Abruptly, she straightened her back and used a corner of the blanket to wipe the tears from her eyes. When Gibbs reached the grille, she was leaning against the back wall, looking at him, her face bereft of every bit of uncertainty or dread.

"Miss?" Gibbs peered through the bars. "I've got some more blankets for ye. And, uhm, managed to get some food and fresh water." Hugging the thick rugs against him with both arms and balancing a mug and a bowl on top of them, he tried to smile at her sympathetically.

"Do you? That's quite an act of friendship, now is it.", she replied lackadaisically, keeping her eyes half closed. "But if I still can trust my eyes, you've got both hands full of whatever you wanted to get me to make me feel better, so there's no way you can possibly open the door without putting all of it onto the ground, and clumsy as you look, you won't be able to do that without spilling the water and spreading the food on the floor. If you're really good at what you're doing, you will also dunk the blankets into the mess you've made. Which leads me to the question: why are you here, if none of these goods will ever reach me?"

"Whoa.", the man exhaled. "No need to bite, missy. After all, I'm here for you. Make you more comfortable and such, -" Celine pursed her lips and made a low, but still audible snorting sound.

"Don't be ridiculous. You aren't doing this for me, no, you're doing this just for your own sake, old man. Either to soothe your own guilty conscience, or to mitigate the punishment all of you will receive for sure, meaning that you're either less conscience-proof than all the others, but more egoistic, or that you're just more calculating, and still as selfish. Now, it's your turn. Which kind of a man are you?"

Enough's enough, Gibbs thought angrily. The Captain had been right, perhaps she really deserved a lesson like this.

"Well then, since I don't want to be worse than all the others, I'll just leave you alone then." He shrugged and turned back to the narrow stair leading up onto the deck. Just in time to capture a distinct look of affright crossing her features, he turned to cast a quick glance back at her. The next instant, she stared straightly at him, daring to stay any longer, or even, heaven forbid!, return and thus let her know of him witnessing her weakness.

"Well, mate?"

"Just as you said, Cap'n."

"Try again t'morrow, Gibbs. Might be just as in Morocco, where they ask ye three times if ye wanna eat somethin' an' accepting before the third time's considered as being impolite."

"Wasn't aware of that, Cap'n." Jack Sparrow nodded knowingly.

"Obviously not, Gibbs, obviously not. Never noticed ye didn't get as much as me? No? See, that's when greed leads to the contrary of what it desires, gettin' less instead of the most." Lazily, the pirate leaned against the rail, supporting his weight on his elbows.

"I wonder, Cap'n, if ye'd say no three times if they offered ye rum." Gibbs took a similar posture, his eyes scanning the horizon unconcernedly.

"Bloody hell, Gibbs. O'course not, but that's where I'm lucky, mate." Patting the older man's shoulder, he pushed himself into an upright position again.

"There's no rum in Morocco."

When eventually 'the end' had approached, Jack's prophecy of her feeling sorry emerged as an empty prophecy. She did not feel sorry in the least. Two weeks she had had to spend on the Pearl, and the bigger part of the time, meaning as soon as she had left Jack's cabin the day she got captured, she was refusing to talk to anyone. Not that anyone minded (apart from Gibbs, who had come to like her due to a trace of parental feelings). Jack had to admit he was glad she didn't use these weeks to prove how difficult a person she was. The exchange itself went without troubles for both sides, the 'stockfish of a commandant' was reliant he would get the chance to settle this debt one day, the currency then being pirate blood.

Although Jack had a hard time wondering why the British officer had paid the ransom so willingly, his crew had eventually managed to make him drop his plans of further research on the matter. They were too relieved as well as too happy about the outcome of this episode to risk discovering possible shady sides of it. Nonetheless, Jack never got rid of this nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach, telling him that, once again, he had gone too far.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Port Royal

'You need to keep in mind, my dear friend, that this union is to be considered also as an alliance. An alliance with the intention of bringing back together our family's wealth and influence and the Company's world-wide network of trade. But, by entrusting you with my daughter in marriage, I also give the one person away I cherish most, which is, if I may say so, the one fact even more important than the economic aspect of our agreement. In consequence, I expect you in any case to, should you ever find yourself face to face with the necessity of such a decision, choose her well-being and honour over the prospect of greater monetary benefits.

To end this letter, let me just say a few more words on the time of your engagement and the date of the marriage, which is, of course, yet to be set. Use this time well to get to know each other. While this arrangement's nature today is one of a fusion of potentialities to guarantee the further existence of the vision the East India Trading Company represents, very soon you will share your lives with each other. I do trust you to always keep this in mind.

If I may ask you to send word as soon as my daughter has arrived.

With the best wishes to my dear future son in law,

Lord Henry Beckett.'

The addressee of the letter folded the sheets neatly to place them back into the top drawer of his desk. He had yet to inform Lord Beckett, the older brother of the former director of the Company, about the abduction of his only child. But while he had still rational hope the girl might be brought back to Port Royal unharmed, he would not send letters which would cause naught but deep sorrow, without doing any good. Sighing, Sir Jonathan Sterne let his gaze wander from the desk to the open ocean. No window prevented the soft, salty breeze to make the air in the room circulate.

When the ship on which he expected her to be had returned without her, he had lost his confidence for just an instant, had already anticipated her body being washed ashore, or more likely, never to find out what had happened to her. Just seconds later, the captain of the unfortunate vessel had handed him the note the pirate had 'left' him by wrapping it around a piece of wood and throwing it onto the deck when he left the former slave trader and his crew for the storm. Unexpectedly, the writing was easy to read and didn't contain many spelling mistakes, another small, but dear triumph not being begrudged. And, as if this day hadn't been dark enough, there were another two people missing: the elderly man to whom the task of keeping an eye on her virtue had been assigned, and her maid. "They fell overboard in the storm." had been the only reaction of the captain on the matter, but somehow Sterne had serious doubts regarding their fate. Sooner or later, whenever there was one, a slave trader would jump at an opportunity. Perhaps the old man was dead. The girl, Sterne was certain, wasn't, young and pretty as she was. Well, at least the man hadn't sold his future wife's other belongings.

Somewhere out there, he mused, his fiancée was currently facing the dark sides of Caribbean life. None had thought this would happen – they had on purpose chosen a small ship, one which would not likely transport valuable goods and thus should have been of little interest to pirates. To be absolutely certain, they had instructed the captain and owner of that ship to pay whatever amount necessary to ensure a safe journey. And still, it had not been enough. A knot of guilt formed in his stomach. He had considered the possibility of providing an escort, but, due to the lasting shortage of military resources, had finally decided otherwise. Although he did not know his future wife yet, her dead would be a great loss. On this marriage, to be more exact: on her father's money, depended his future.

Years he had been waiting and working to eventually fill a position at the head of the Company. How it had hurt to witness the defeat at Shipwrack Bay. But then, finally, they had assigned him the position as the director of the Company's branch in the Caribbean. They had put this difficult task into his hands, and he was convinced he was most capable of fulfilling it – to lead the Company back to former glory, to undo the Caribbean failure. While the circumstances in the Caribbean were most difficult ones, the business blossomed everywhere else. Thus, he had the rightful hope to be promoted to director of the whole Company if he managed to put things in the Caribbean back together. After just a few weeks, he had discovered realising his intention would be almost impossible – as long as the resources placed at his disposal weren't increased. Letters had been sent and received in London and Port Royal until he had to understand it was all up to him, and he couldn't suppress the swelling pride in his heart at having found a way.

His fingers clasped the armrests of the chair he was sitting in, until his knuckles turned white. There was a certain rage slowly building up, the idea of not being able to intervene, to see the rise and fall of the Company (and his career) again in the hands of pirates, to stop them from doing whatever they would do only fuelling his anger. The powerlessness of the last two years surfaced to its full extent; the life of the person he depended on to turn the tide had fallen into the hands of those who had caused this exasperating situation. And even if he did get her back – he would most likely not be able to strike back immediately. The British marine could not (and would not) afford to support an offensive reprisal, and he would have to wait until the marriage, until her family's money had bought him the much needed raise in ships, men and weapons. Right now, it would be a great risk focusing the remaining power of the Company on a long-lasting, sapping feud with the Caribbean pirates, its outcome not in the least predictable, though he found he should ponder taking that risk. If he could somehow win this struggle for power, he could be almost absolutely sure to return to London soon – as the new director of the East India Trading Company.

A loud knock on the door to his office tore him out of his musings. Without awaiting an answer, a member of Commodore Gray's staff half-entered the office.

"Sir. They're back."

Wrapped in a thick blanket after a taking a long, hot bath, Celine Beckett carefully sipped at the porcelain cup of hot tea. Its warmth spread through her body, and slowly she began to realize she was finally safe. During the journey back to Port Royal, she had not been able to calm down, but had been in a smouldering, deep state of alarm. The abduction had had a stronger effect on her than she would like to admit. Outwardly almost unaffected, she had constantly searched the horizon for black sails, still not convinced it was all over now. All those romantic ideas of pirates she had shared with her friends home in Britain proved not to be true. There had been no polite, handsome captain, offering her his cabin, the crew was dirty and boozy, the brig cold, clammy and uncomfortable. And then there was this ever-present question, this doubt, whether or not she would leave this ship unharmed and alive. Never in her life had she been afraid like this. But if her mother had taught her something before she died, then it was to hide weaknesses, to maintain the outer posture. However, what had spared her this time the embarrassment of showing strong emotions, was her fury. Whenever she felt like she was getting closer to a breakdown, she had concentrated on her anger, designing plans on how to make that damned pirate, no, not just him, oh no, all pirates within her reach, pay. Being inexperienced but nevertheless inventive, she had soon found a way. Since it would be a rather impossible thing to do personally, she had decided to let her future husband solve the problem.

While both blanket and tea were fulfilling their shared task of preserving the warmth of the bath, she relaxed. A minute ago, she had asked the people taking care of her to leave her alone for a while. When the last of them had closed the door, a calming silence had surrounded her. With a deep sigh, she sunk further into the soft cushion of the chair, savouring the forthcoming tranquillity as long as it would last.

Eventually, the door to the guestroom was opened carefully. The thick carpet swallowed the sound of the steps approaching her, and just when a soft, male voice addressed her she got aware of his presence. Instantly, she knew who stood in front of her. Her father had described him to her rather often at her requests: tall, slender, light brown hair and, although he was already beyond his thirties, a youthful sparkle in the grey eyes. Though, when her eyes found his, she searched unsuccessfully for that sparkle. Instead, they gazed worriedly into hers for some uneasy seconds, before he went to fetch himself a chair, positioning it close to hers.

"Are you unhurt, dear?" he asked gently, his eyes again scanning her face for any sign of pain.

According to her thoroughly thought out plan, this would have been the moment when she would start to cry, telling him of all the terrible, humiliating, dreadful things they had done to her, how her worst nightmares had come true. Of course, the only true tale would be the one about the brig. But the honest, open sorrow she found directed at her seemed to open the gate to all the contained emotions she had tried so hard to hide. Gone was her pride, gone the facade of haughtiness and indignation. Beneath appeared the girl who had just gone through the worst experience of her until then overly protected life. Tears welled up in her eyes, then flowed freely down her cheeks, leaving a salty tang on her lips. Her body trembled violently, she felt like someone had put an all too heavy stone onto her chest, making her breathing difficult and painful. The first shuddering breath she forced into her lungs felt like fire, and when she released the air again, a hard sob escaped along with it. The strong, comforting hand Jonathan covered hers with broke her last defences, and the next instant she cried openly. "Let go", her fiancé whispered, "it's alright, you're safe. Safe."

Later that day, she could not recall how long they had set there, how long she had cried and how long he had held her hand. What she did recall, however, was her desire for revenge, and as soon as she had come back to her senses, she started to talk.

"This ... this Sparrow, see, he ..." she sobbed.

"Slowly, dear. You do not have to talk about it yet, if you don't feel strong enough.", the concerned voice of her husband-to-be hushed her.

"No, let me, please. See, when he had dragged me onto the bridge... he actually threatened to throw me overboard if I wouldn't stop struggling, and pushed me against the railing. For a moment, I really thought I'd fall!" Her stammering had subsided. Now the words spilled from her lips, smoothly carrying the well-prepared words to his ears.

"And then, aboard the other ship, I was locked up in this filthy cage, without a single drop of water or something to sit on! It was all cold and damp down there, and I couldn't support myself. With this storm outside, every wave tossed me around like I was some kind of a ball, hitting me against the walls and the iron bars. And then, it was the following day, I think, he made me scrub the deck in front of his crew, telling them in detail what he intended to do to me this night, and what they could do to me afterwards!" New tears streamed from her eyes, her fingers closed around his hand. The following pause emphasized her last words. Her fiancé couldn't help but tighten his grip on her hand. Anxious, he urged her onwards.

"Did he...?" She cut his sentence off with a movement of her free hand.

"No, no." she hurried to assure him. "There was this elderly mate, this Gibbs. That evening, Sparrow came down into the brig. I had tried all day long to prepare myself for what I thought was to come, but still, the waiting was the worst. He had already unlocked the door and reached for me, when Gibbs called him back onto the deck. These two weeks he somehow managed to keep his captain from ... from ..." This time, it was Jonathan who silenced her.

"It's over now. You're safe, home. No one will hurt you here." She nodded weakly, wiping her eyes with the already soaked handkerchief. "Jonathan? Will you take care of him? I mean, will you make sure this terrible man never gets to do something like that again? Please? I don't think I'll be able to forget what he did to me as long as he's in freedom.", she begged, her wide eyes fixed on his with an expression of utter trust.

Jonathan Sterne sensed that somehow, she seemed more naive than she was, that there was something else behind this vulnerability. Although it must have been a dreadful experience without question, he would wager without hesitation she would never, under normal circumstances (as far as such circumstances could ever be called normal), put her emotions on display like that – not if she wasn't expecting to gain something by it. Not that he cared – as long as she played her part, he would play his, and after all, at this very second she provided him with a perfect reason. Slowly, taking the risk he had thought about earlier became more and more attractive to him.

"Celine, let's talk about this tomorrow. Now, my dear, I think it is best if you went to bed. I'll make sure you won't be disturbed, and if there's anything you should need, one of my staff members will be guarding your room, so just call." Again, she gave a slight nod, followed by a small, but grateful smile.

"Thank you, Jonathan."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then. Have a good night." He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss onto it, then rose and left her alone.

When silence filled the air again, it gave room to the small voice inside her head, repeating words her father had used about ten years ago, when she was eight and had lied to him about a broken toy, blaming her nursemaid: 'If you are sure you have told me the truth, go to bed and sleep well. If you didn't, you will not sleep well again until you told the truth, for God does not grace dishonest people with a restful sleep.' She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, blowing the voice against the ceiling, where it wavered and then faded away. Tired, she felt she would not have any problems going to sleep. Carefully, she peeled herself out of the blanket and took the few steps to where they had set her luggage down. Celine carelessly searched through the layers of dresses until she had found a nightgown. She quickly changed and brushed her hair before she dropped onto the bed with a low 'thump'. The moment her back hit the mattress, she felt a deep relaxation seizing her body. Every muscle felt as if he would refuse every command her head would try to give, when her mind, seemingly on its own accord, recalled the last minutes on the beach of the island where they had met with the delegation of Port Royal.

Sparrow's hand rested on the nape of her neck, while the captain in charge counted the gold coins into a chest. With every coin that fell into the chest with a light clicking, the pirate's grin seemed to get even brighter. His fingertips were drawing lazy circles on her skin, making her flinch uncomfortably. And when finally the last coin had left the hands of the officer, he lowered his head to hers, the braids of his beard brushing against her cheek. His voice was a soft murmur as he drawled, "That's it, luv. You an' me, we gotta part now, but trust ol' Jack, time will fin'lly mend our broken hearts." While he spoke, his lips almost touched her temple, and in a strange way she had yet to classify, the deep, soothing tone of his words made the hand in her neck feel different, almost familiar. "Now, lass, get goin'. Lover's talks on a beach may be nice, but really, me could use a lil less audience." The warm pressure of his palm disappeared, then reappeared between her shoulder-blades, pushing her gently into the direction of the British soldiers.

Her defiance and anger surfaced again at the memory and she grabbed the cover, jerking it roughly over herself. How could he dare talking to her as if she was one of these damned whores, even selling her like a piece of furniture. Forcefully, she drove the last remnants of doubt out of her consciousness.


End file.
